The man laughed out loud. The dogs looked up, wondering
what could possibly be so funny at four thirty in the morning.
A request from far away friends for poetry and stories.

The man glanced down at the four unfinished pieces on his
desk and smiled and shook his head. He could barely find his
coffee cup. He wondered how he'd ever find the meter or the
rhyme. Or the inspiration.

The man opened his Image files and brought up a photo of his
dog. A simple head study of a young yellow Lab at Christmas.
A toy duck between his paws, a far away look in his eyes.

'Labrador Eyes'

the man wrote on the page.

'The ancient birds of distant skies
Cross the Labrador's dark eyes.'

The man wondered how and why dogs had never hunted or
even heard a gun, would stop their play and watch a formation
of ducks or geese fly overhead. Why they would get a special
look of recognition in their eyes.

The man re-read the words, shook his head and crossed them
off. Then he wrote:

'Amidst the chaos and the strife
His eyes found all the good in life.'

The man considered that perhaps that expression was something
else. Maybe the calm and gentle soul that lives within the dog,
shows itself in the soft, warm eyes. Even, perhaps, in the silly,
often frantic pup, the sweet soft soul peeks out and promises
the dog that lives within.

The man shook his head again and scratched away his words.
He studied the photo a little more, trying to let the picture write
the words, find the meter, show the theme.

'The dog sat. Quietly. Lost in a world of
people's things. And human dreams.'

The man had tried. He closed down the picture on his screen.
He'd have to apologize to his distant friends.
There would be no story this day.
The poetry just wasn't there.